


Welcome to Night Vale Christmas Edition

by DarthVadersInhaler



Series: Welcome To Night Vale Specials [1]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 07:47:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7882762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthVadersInhaler/pseuds/DarthVadersInhaler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part one of Welcome to Night Vale special Editions. It'll basically be all the holidays and whatnot. I know this is Christmas, but I saved this and it said it would delete on the 27th, so I decided I'd post it early, which sucks cause now I won't get to do Halloween and stuff, but hey, there's always next year. But I'm planning on normally updating on the special event, instead of months before it, as I'm doing now. -_-</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to Night Vale Christmas Edition

Think of everything you have been told, are being told, or will be told. _It is a lie._ Including this. I am lying to you right now. Welcome to Night Vale.

Hello, dear listeners, and Merry Christmas-assuming, of course, that the old fat man in a suit who breaks into your home every year, hasn't already slit your throat. The Sherriff's Secret Police are still fixated on finding him, so if you know anything, tell no one. Let no one know where he is, what he's doing, or if he's for some reason still keeping that reindeer with herpes.

Tell me, is it snowing where you are? Of course it is. Why wouldn't it be? This is Night Vale after all, where you can put your faith in government controlled weather. If it is not snowing, lock yourself in you house, and do an ancient prayer to the Angels, the Faceless Old Woman That Secretly Lives in Your House, and Johnny Depp. If the snow stubbornly insists not to fall, well, then, enjoy the last few minutes of your life, because, as we all know, when the weather falls outside of the scheduled agreement of the contract with our government, angels are going to abduct you. But, of course, we all know that's not true, because Angels don't exist. Angels are 100 percent nonexistent. There is no Angel secretly hiding under your bed, nor, if you live in a place without snow at this time, is there an Angel currently ripping off your face while cackling. It's all inside your head. If you see an angel, report it, so we can make sure you know you're imagining all of it. You are perfectly safe, and not in any danger at all.

As we all know, dear listeners, Christmastime is a time of celebration, and culture. When we come together as this small, perfectly ordinary town, that is not in any way not ordinary, to celebrate things as home break ins, Angel invasions, and, most of all, the mistletoe. Ah, yes, something we all know and love. It has been something that has been in our small culture for centuries. The story of revenge, murder, and that one thing you have, even though it attracts a lot of spiders, and you wish you could just take it down already. I know I'm spending my Christmas with my boyfriend Carlos. He has already taught me to put up a bunch of things that will attract lots of spiders, such as a tree, a wreath, and, you guessed it, mistletoes. Although new to this alien culture, I quickly joined in, and added my own decorations, including the teeth-and-bones-on-a-wire that Old Lady Josie gave me. This Christmas is going to be so fun!

Now, for the traffic. You are sitting in your car on the road. In front of you is a car with a perfectly genuine tree, that does not, I repeat, _does not ___have a government tracking device on it. In the trunk, there are cleverly concealed devices wrapped in a thin paper-like sheet, usually with a ribbon, bow, or Sharpie message on it that says _this concealed object is one hundred percent legal. ___All around you are people like that, with Christmas music going on outside, and the old fat man that the Sheriff's Secret Police are unable to find on every corner. And then...there's you. Who's sitting around in the busy street just waiting to go home, waiting for this traffic to clear up, desperately and angrily waiting to go back to your four walls, to fill out those bills, and everything else...your normal life, the thing which you despise most, which is your worst nightmare, yet surrounded by all this cheer and joy, it is all that you could ever dream of, and you're waiting, and waiting, and _waiting ___to get home...until you do, forever trapped in this hell that is your life, forever stuck in this meaningless universe.  
This has been the traffic.  
And now, a word from our sponsors. A slight hitch in a breath that is not there. A scream in the distance. Fingernails scraping on a chalkboard. Blood dripping from the celling. A high pitched cackle. A crow screeching. Darkness. EA sports- It's in the game. And now, for the weather. Listeners, as you are well aware, this is an...interesting new report, being that you are less of listeners, and more of readers. I'm sure you've been wondering why. There is no reason. Nothing has happened. Everything is perfectly the same. But now, you should open a new tab, listeners, and listen to your favorite song. Go on, do it. It's not like you have to fear anything. Fear is just a setback.  
Ah, good, you're finally back. And now I must ask you; really? _That's ___your favorite song? Out of all the terrible songs, you choose that one to poison my radio station with? Have you no heart? I'm just kidding, of course. I know you never left.

Oh-oh dear. Listeners, it seems I have just had a slight difficulty. Oh, dear. it seems-it seems I just grew antlers. Now, before you change the channel, I know what you're thinking. "Slight difficulty?" You must be saying while shaking your head. "It's perfectly normally suddenly grow random animal body parts." And to that, I assure you I agree with wholeheartedly-but, dear listeners, I don't think this is our regularly government scheduled growth-of-animal-body-parts. I do not know what is happening. I must go contact the authorities. M-more on this story as it progresses.  
Alright, listeners, I'm back. Sorry for any inconvenience, including homicidal thoughts, hypnotized acts, sudden deaths, or about 10 minutes without a radio station. I've contacted the authorities, and they assure me that it's perfectly normal to grow antlers when it's not government scheduled during winter. They say it's part of the Christmas spirit. 'Now,' they say, 'if you were to grow cat ears...well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.' They then proceeded to tell me to get out for questioning them, which I did, of course. Who was I to question them?  
In other news, those lights you see at night are not stars. They are not fiery balls of gas light years away. That's just a myth, a folk tale, an urban legend. Something we've decided to believe so long ago, to make up for our lack of knowledge. But now's the time to discover what the truth is, the face the facts, to stop being so delusional. Are you ready, Night Vale? To uncover the truth that the aliens that control our thoughts and actions have kept hidden from us until this very day? Are you ready? Good. Discover it, and when you find out, call us. This has been; Children's Science Corner.  
Oh-what's this? The Sheriff's Secret Police have captured the old fat man in a suit! Congratulations, Night Vale! You don't have to worry about him eating the cookies you saved on a plate, or leaving suspicious looking packages behind. For breaking in to literally everyone's house on Christmas for every year since his teenage year, the old man(-who, by the way, goes by a lot of different names- Saint Nick, Nicolas, Santa, Mr. Claus, so let's just call him the old fat guy in a suit. Sure, it may be longer, but at least it's only one name.) is sentenced to a life time in prison. Now, with my reindeer Christmas antlers, the old fat guy in a suit locked up, absolutely no one listening to the weather, and the Angels secretly watching your every move, I think it's time to wrap this up. So, as always, goodnight, Night Vale, good night.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a review, it would really make my day, and thanks for reading this!


End file.
